


What's Crying Get You Anyhow? Nothing but the hiccups.

by InkgooSupernova



Series: The Winter System [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Gets a Hug, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes has DID - Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kid Bucky Barnes, M/M, Multi, Non-Sexual Age Play, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Wetting, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23589859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkgooSupernova/pseuds/InkgooSupernova
Summary: They started off as a gnawing whisper, some random thing during the day had planted the seeds of his eventual undoing. He could handle it then, seeds are always easy to handle. It was only a matter of time before it grew.And grow it did.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: The Winter System [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693231
Comments: 20
Kudos: 208





	What's Crying Get You Anyhow? Nothing but the hiccups.

**Author's Note:**

> Like some of the other stories in this list, this one is based heavily on personal experiences.
> 
> The title is a line from Disney's 'Dumbo' (1941).

He was crying.

Okay, that was a bit of an understatement. Jamesy was currently curled in the corner of his room behind his bed. He was shaking, cold, wet, terrified, _and_ crying.

He wished he could hear one of the others comforting him, telling him everything's going to be okay. Or hear Soldier blandly state that they're having a panic attack. Or even Winnie crying along with him in their head. Literally _anything_.

But instead, his head was only filled with his brain's terrible words. Words it had picked up off the ground through all the years of being around the people who spat those words onto the floor. Words like _useless_ and _disgusting_ and _**broken**_.

They started off as a gnawing whisper, some random thing during the day had planted the seeds of his eventual undoing. He could handle it then, seeds are always easy to handle. It was only a matter of time before it grew.

And grow it did.

He spiraled down, down, down, into the dark oblivion of the deep insides of their head. The places none of them should ever even _dare_ to dip a toe into without at _least_ three different therapists to help pull them back from the depths. Especially not a traumatized four year old all by himself, suddenly thrusted eyeballs deep into the murky, sticky, tentacle-filled tar pit.

No matter how hard he tried to distract himself throughout the day, the slimy, gripping tentacles of their brain's cruel words kept yanking him down, down, down. Until he was trapped in the deep, black abyss of their brain. This was so very hard for him to handle. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear. He couldn't breathe.

 _He couldn't breathe_.

He gasped for breath as the ocean of tears threatened to drown him. He couldn't move, body completely frozen to the floor, no matter how loud the alarms in his head screamed to run hide fight run run fight hide run hide run run _run runrun **run runrunrunrunRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN**_ -

He heard a knock at the door to his room, followed by the slow, tell-tale creaking of the hinges. His blood froze in his veins as he sat still as the dead.

"Jamesy? You in here buddy?" Uncle Sam. Right. Daddy was on a mission- a safe mission where he can't get hurt no matter how much their brain liked to shove horrible thoughts of all the ways Daddy could die in front of his tear-blurred eyes.

He couldn't even get out an actual word, his throat creaking with the herculean effort to speak. Even that was just far too much to ask of him.

_Pathetic._

"There you are," Uncle Sam walked slowly, carefully, to the bed in which Jamesy was hiding behind, not wanting to startle him. "What's wrong little guy?"

What's wrong? _What's wrong_? _**Everything is wrong!**_

He couldn't even give himself a shred of dignity, sobbing harder, yet somehow quieter, into his hands. He couldn't even remember why he was so upset, but it cut so deep that now he couldn't stop his guts from spilling out. Everything hurt so very badly.

"Oh, come here little guy." Uncle Sam cooed, opening his arms for the other. Jamesy didn't want to resist, he felt so very exhausted, he wanted to crawl into his Daddy's chest and sleep for a thousand years. He climbed up onto the bed and right into Uncle Sam's warm, comforting arms.

It wasn't an instant relief, but it still felt infinitely better than being on the floor alone.

Uncle Sam didn't ask any questions or even expect him to speak. He just ran his warm hands through his long, tousled hair and hummed such very kind words to try and drown the horrible words their brain was stabbing through his chest. He let himself cry into the other's chest, though as soon as a single tear hit the other's shirt, a new wave of awful words rushed through his head. He felt like his head might very well explode from all of the horrible thoughts filling every single gap of his head.

He wished he could hear Soldier remind him that it wasn't possible for their head to explode from too many thoughts.

He sat there for what felt like an eternity, the thoughts never letting up as he just cried harder and harder with every passing moment, a vicious cycle of 'you're terrible', 'you're being ungrateful', 'it isn't fair for him to deal with you', 'you're manipulating him to take care of you', 'you're being more difficult by resisting help', 'you're terrible' repeating like a broken record in his head.

"Jamesy, how are you feeling?" Uncle Sam began, shifting to look down at the shameful display clinging to his shirt. "It sounds like you're feeling a lot of big emotions, I don't know if it's safe for you to handle those."

Handle emotions? He can handle emotions. They **need** to handle emotions. They can handle this. He can-

He can't handle this.

He can't. _He can't handle this_. The words felt so foreign to think. But what else could he say? How could they expect a traumatized four year old to handle the deep, damaged emotions that some people can't even handle _thinking_ of?  
He couldn't handle this.

"c'n't." Was all he could choke out, gulping down a shuttering breath as another wave of the paralyzing fear shot through his very soul.

"Hey, it's okay," Uncle Sam soothed, rocking and swaying him ever so gently. "It's okay to not be able to handle something. Some things are just too much, even for the best of us. And you're such a fragile little boy, huh? It's not fair to expect yourself to handle things that not even the big guys can handle."

The wave of relief crashed into his chest before he could properly appreciate it. As if he needed permission to escape.

For the first time since he started crying that night, he felt a shaking sob weaken as it left his lips.

After another eternity of slowly, ever so slowly, coming down from the threatening cliff edge of panic, Jamesy's sobs had finally been reduced to soft hiccups and gasps. He felt so very exhausted and numb, his brain shutting down like an unplugged computer. But he had finally gotten it all out, at least this time. None of them think they'll ever fully get it _all_ out.

Uncle Sam must have been able to tell, because the next thing Jamesy remembered, he was being led to the bathroom with a change of pajamas and a fresh pullup to change into. He cleaned himself up, slipping into his pajamas, and stepping back out to Uncle Sam's waiting arms. He couldn't carry Jamesy the way Daddy could, but he didn't mind.

The two of them walked back to Jamesy's bed and crawled in. He couldn't help snuggling against the other's chest as he was handed his precious bear to cuddle. Uncle Sam hummed and pulled him close, picking up a nearby storybook as he began to read.

"How does a dinosaur say goodnight, when Papa comes in to turn out the light?" Uncle Sam began, his voice a soft vibration in his chest that felt so very comforting to the exhausted boy.

This, this he can handle.

**Author's Note:**

> References:
> 
> The story Sam starts reading at the end of the story is 'How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight' by Jane Yolen.
> 
> Brief Explainations:
> 
> In this story, Bucky and his system alters, in this case specifically Jamesy, are experiencing a panic attack caused by intrusive thoughts. Due to Dissociative Amnesia, they cannot remember exactly what triggered it.
> 
> Jamesy cannot hear or communicate with the others in this story because they are heavily dissociating due to the panic attack, thus leaving him as the only one 'in control'. After the panic attack has ended, their body is physically and emotionally exhausted.
> 
> In many DID systems, 'system littles', or child parts/alters, are very common. These are alters with the mental capacity of children. They can range in any age, as young as infancy to as old as teenagers, though they are more commonly between the ages of 4 to 10 years of age. This is often caused by trauma received during these ages, though not all child alter's ages match up with the age their host was when receiving said trauma.
> 
> Some alters form directly from trauma and take the memories as their own. These are often refered to as 'trauma holders', as they, for lack of a better word, hold the traumatic memories for their host. This can cause behavioral issues in the alter that should be addressed and worked with with the help of a professional if at all possible.
> 
> DID is a disorder caused by 'extreme escapism', where the brain believes it has no other choice than to dissociate from the trauma in order to escape and survive. People can live with DID for years and not even realize they have it until their brain decides it is safe enough to process that the trauma actually did happen.
> 
> It is unclear why some brains react to chronic childhood trauma by dissociating while others do not. Always remember that no two people experience the world in the exact same way.
> 
> These are all based on **personal experiences** and are not meant to explain or educate all DID systems, symptoms, or how they work. These are simply examples from our own experiences as a traumagenic DID system. No two people or their experiences are exactly alike, so these will not apply to every single case of DID.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated, and thank you for reading!


End file.
